


Requisitions

by entanglednow



Category: Primeval
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-15
Updated: 2008-01-15
Packaged: 2017-11-07 06:46:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/428117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/entanglednow/pseuds/entanglednow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ryan doesn't find Lester's office a relaxing place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Requisitions

Ryan expects to find Lester sat behind his desk in his deserted office. The same place he usually occupies when he demands a late night report. He'll stare at his paperwork for as long as it takes Ryan to get annoyed, before finally looking at him with an expression that's irritatingly close to impatience.

Ryan doesn't find Lester's office a relaxing place. Though Lester isn't behind his desk tonight, the creature of habit is over by the shredder, bent over slightly with an annoyed expression on his face. A more annoyed than usual expression on his face. He's offering a few choice swearwords in the direction of whatever has gone through last...or possibly gotten stuck.

Ryan's boots are almost silent on the floor.

Unfortunately Lester has an almost supernatural ability to know when people are hovering. He looks up when Ryan gets to the desk.

Ryan debates the possible repercussions of asking if there's a paperclip in there.

"There are no paperclips in there," Lester says tartly. Then gives up and switches the whole thing off.

He brushes the creases out of his suit. He's been wearing it for a while by the look of it. It's not quite as tidy, not quite as exact. Nowhere near as neat as it usually is. He leans against the desk in a way that for anyone else would look relaxed, almost lazy. Lester just looks quietly balanced, and still several shades of sharpness past welcoming.

"Well it's nice to see I won't have to be requesting a new team leader, I've already done quite enough paperwork for today," Lester says quietly, though there's nothing like the usual weight of venomous impatience under the words.

That's probably as close to 'I'm glad you're not dead' as Ryan's going to get. But since they're sharing Ryan thinks it's only fair he make the effort. He takes a step, well inside Lester's personal space, and when all he gets is a raised eyebrow and a questioning expression he slides his gun off of his arm and very carefully lays it on Lester's desk.

"I hope that's clean," Lester tells him.

He probably has other, more insulting things to say about weapon hygiene in general but Ryan decides that now would be the optimal time to prevent him from talking. Clearly whatever Lester had to say wasn't that important because he doesn't stop Ryan from dragging his head up and kissing him.

Though that's a rather nice and polite description of what they're doing.

Lester likes to bite.

In fact Ryan suspects he saves up every inch of frustration and then takes it all out on him. He thinks he'd complain if it wasn't usually so interesting. He winds an arm round Lester waist, leans in a little further. Lester doesn't make any great effort of brace himself, possibly it's beneath him?

They both slam into the desk, hard enough to hurt, and Lester grunts in a way that manages to be insulted and interested at the same time, which is definitely one of the reasons Ryan fell into this bloody madness in the first place, and god help him he can't stop pushing. Something makes a protesting beeping noise when Ryan shoves rather too enthusiastically. Lester's mouth slides away, drifts sideways. Which considering Ryan had been making a determined effort to get all the way inside it, is more than a touch annoying.

"Ignore it," he grumbles against the pale skin of Lester's neck.

"I'm not requisitioning a variety of new office equipment because you couldn't rein in your enthusiasm."

Ryan raises an eyebrow.

"That's the first time you've complained about my enthusiasm." He emphasizes the word 'enthusiasm' by sliding a leg between Lester's, pinning him in a completely different way.

"It's never broken anything expensive before."

"You've never let me near anything expensive."

Lester makes a vague, agreeable noise.

Ryan tangles a hand in the material of Lester's suit jacket.

"Though I've at least made the effort." Lester's belt makes a far too tempting second handhold, and Ryan drags him in tight and glares at him until he regains Lester's attention, which comes with a raised eyebrow.

"You're not fucking me in my office," Lester says simply, and he makes it sound like the most perverted thing ever.

"It wouldn't be the first time," Ryan points out.

"That was an aberration."

Ryan catches his hips and pulls them in against his own, and Lester is just hard enough that he makes a soft noise when Ryan's thigh slides against him.

"You're still not fucking me in my office."

"Is that an order?" Ryan asks, because really it's good to be clear on these things.

"Considering you almost always choose to ignore what I tell you to do phrasing it as such would be pointless."

Ryan's not making a very good show of proving him wrong. His other hand is already pushed up underneath the material of Lester's shirt, fingers finding unexpectedly warm skin and pulling on it until Lester has little choice but to tip his head back and look at him.

"Not to mention the fact that you insist on inflicting your own brand of disorder on everything else when left to your own devices."

Ryan ignores the insult, shoves a hand into Lester's irritably tidy hair and leans every ounce of his body weight onto Lester's carefully balanced one.

Pens and folders scatter across the desk when Lester drops his hand to brace himself, but this time he doesn't pull out of the kiss to protest. His back smacks into something plastic and no doubt expensive. Which cracks alarmingly.

They're pressed so close together that every twitch and shift just points out how hard they both now are, and Lester has no qualms about dragging Ryan in at exactly the right angle to make everything just a little more urgent. It's an unsubtle demand for attention that Ryan feels obliged to ignore in favour of grinding his cock against Lester's thigh.

Lester's greedy when distracted just right, he'll pull and push until he gets exactly what he wants, all long hands and sharp nails. Ryan has more than a few marks on his back still to prove it. But for all the bitching he's worth it. Lester's not evil he's just utterly ruthless and pragmatic and sometimes vicious if you bite him just right. He can't resist shoving both hands under the shirt, pulling on a slender waist until he desk judders on the floor and something tips and goes clattering across the surface.

Lester has apparently reconsidered his earlier position on enthusiasm because he drags open Ryan's belt and fly and shoves a hand inside, fingers warm against his cock but hard enough to push against. His boot squeaks on the floor and Lester pushes on his shoulder with his other hand until they're twisting against the desk, one swivel that should be awkward but Ryan is too distracted by the slip and catch of fingers to care.

Then Lester is pushing _him_ into the desk, and he suspects he's just sat on the fax machine and it's making very unhappy creaking noises underneath him.

He's probably going to pay for it later.

The hand that started the movement relocates to his hair, tugging his head up and back and Lester is doing demanding things with his tongue that Ryan finds very fucking distracting.

He debates the chances of getting that very clever mouth round his cock and decides they're probably pretty good.

He wonders if some sort of subtle encouragement would be a good idea.

Lester beats him to it though, sliding away from him, hand slithering free of his trousers, he raises one slender eyebrow. "Turn around."

Ryan raises him own eyebrow, Lester digs his nails into his waist.

He's really not going to win this one.

He turns around, one hand shifting his gun out of the way, the other sending a folder skidding onto the floor, not entirely accidentally.

Lester's hand finds its way back inside his trousers, and the other is making a concerted effort to slide the back down over his arse. Lester has very clever hands, it's a shame he doesn't put them to devious uses more often.

"This seems a bit unfair, I'm not allowed to fuck you in your office but you're allowed to fuck me?"

"It is my office," Lester points out as if that's the only explanation necessary.

"Are you sure it isn't an improper use of office supplies?"

"Do stop talking Ryan,"

"There's a sharp hand in the middle of his spine, pushing pointedly and Ryan really should stop being surprised at how fucking rude Lester manages to be. The glass is fucking cold, and there are parts of his anatomy that protest about that, and his tac vest is now crushing the phone and the fax machine and a variety of shiny expensive looking pens, but he knows for a fact if he suggests taking it off Lester will protest, painfully.

Which makes it impossibly tempting.

Then there's a hand tearing open the velcro on one of his many pockets and dragging a tube of sunscreen free.

No, Ryan corrects his earlier thought, he should be worried that Lester's particular brand of scathing, tactless rudeness makes him fucking hard.

A shiny shoe kicks his boot, hard, which is clearly a non-verbal indication that he should spread his legs a little, he complies with a grumble of complaint and Lester slides a hand into the loosened waistband of his trousers and pulls until they catch.

For a man that's supposed to be well-bred Lester has a remarkable habit of lacking any sort of finesse when he fucks. Still when his hands slither over Ryan's hipbones he has to take a breath and lean into the glass. It's still not warm but that suddenly doesn't seem to matter so much.

The cap of a tube goes skittering across the desk, rolls about amusingly, then comes to a stop.

Ryan swears if Lester smacks his arse he's going to be the one face down on the desk, he doesn't give a shit what he says. There's an amused noise against the back of his neck, as if Lester knows exactly what he's thinking and is finding it entertaining. Ryan is right on the edge of calling him something insulting when a hand wraps round his waist and a slick finger pushes its way into him. He settles for exhaling loudly into the desk instead.

He leans into his own hands, bites back a 'hurry the fuck up' because Lester will just take it as an excuse to be obnoxious. Lester likes being obnoxious.

Two fingers, and Lester's knee pushes against the side of his thigh. Ryan wants to protest that he can't get his legs open any wider, but it turns out he can, and that's good, fuck that's good.

Lester's other hand slithers off of his waist and Ryan knows he's pulling his own trousers open, he drags his forehead over the glass and pushes back just a little.

There's a tight little catch of breath and then Lester's fingers slide free, replaced almost straight away by his cock; Ryan groans through his teeth because it's just one long push without a pause and it's good and it hurts and he doesn't fucking care.

He can hear Lester breathing, tight shuddering little exhales that don't hide a fucking thing, he leans over as far as his vest will allow and there's a sharply bitten off swearword and a shove of hips that can't send him any deeper. The slide back is a fraction too quick but Ryan makes a noise that isn't unhappy, which suggests he's become far too used to this. Or maybe Lester just does it because he's fucked up and he likes it.

A hand slithers up his back, folds in the sharp thin edge of material that covers his shoulder-blades and goes tight.

"You have a military thing don't you," Ryan says breathlessly, and Lester surprises him by laughing through his next long push. It's probably true, but Ryan's not going to complain, not when there are so many filthy possibilities. One particularly hard push knocks him into the desk and makes him gasp, scattering his amusement and whatever else he was planning to say out of his head.

He puts pressure on his hands and shoves back.

Lester is not one to be teased lightly. He sets a new rhythm that has Ryan swearing and gasping and stuck for a fucking handhold.

It's brutally hard and after three thrusts Ryan skids off of his hands and something in his tac vest slams against the edge of the fax machine, sending little chips of plastic skittering across the desk. Which Ryan would find amusing if he wasn't suddenly face down on the desk groaning like he's been fucking shot while Lester makes a concerted effort to make sure he feels this tomorrow morning.

And if there is anything that's more fucking wrong than this it would probably kill him.

He shoves back into Lester, who calls him something filthy and unsuccessfully tries to hold him still, and Ryan doesn't know whether to laugh or make dirty, strangled noises so he tries to do both.

Which is apparently good.

Lester needs just a handful of ragged shoves before he makes a soft, surprised noise and pushes in hard. And Ryan can't fucking hold it, he's swearing through his teeth and groaning and coming. Like he's fucking helpless.

And the glass is so very cool on his face.

The world gradually comes back into focus and Ryan is still quietly groaning on every exhale, and the glass is all fogged up with condensation and his arse hurts. He probably should complain, but he thinks he'll ride out the tiny shivers and see if he can stop making noises first.

Lester is straightening his clothes behind him, he can fucking hear him.

Bastard.

Ryan makes a complaining noise into the desk.

"I'm going to fuck you so hard later," he tells him. Lester makes a breathless, amused noise somewhere to his right. "And you're going to let me."

There's a curious, slightly more amused, noise, but otherwise Lester doesn't say a word.


End file.
